


Consultation Fee

by maximum_overboner



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Character Study, Dark Comedy, Gen, M/M, Slice of Life, black hat can be a suave bastard when he wants to, crackling sexual tension, everything is a bit unhealthy but you know what that's part of the charm, flug is the most awkward human being alive, it still involves death threats, my hankering was too strong, otherwise he's just a shrieking hellmess, well as... as fluffy can black hat can get, what's this i spy is it a... somewhat fluffy shipping fic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 04:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11501865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner
Summary: Black Hat provides counsel for only the most elite of villains. Only the most despicable deserve his ruthless guidance.... And, at a push, Dr Flug.





	Consultation Fee

**Author's Note:**

> Alan Ituriel revealed some very interesting information at a talk recently! Some of which is that Black Hat is THE head honcho when it comes to villainy, that he gives advice to other villains that are struggling (like in the original shorts!) and that Flug is a sadist that totally buys into the whole evil thing. I wanted to revisit the themes in this (http://archiveofourown.org/works/11268198) but in a different and, hopefully, more accurate light
> 
> … as accurate as an indulgent shipping fic will allow!

If you’re good at something never do it for free. That was the maxim, apparently. Black Hat mulled on it, sat on his throne in an extravagantly decorated office. In the corner ticked an extravagant grandfather clock, marking every second with the swing of an antique brass pendulum. The chair opposite the desk was also extravagant; sumptuous velvet that melted into every curve of the human body and supported every aching muscle. On his desk sat his notes; things to do, things to order Flug to do, and the general bits and bobs that came with running a business. Black Hat loved what he did. He was born for it. It was everything to him, and if push came to shove he would perform his nefarious deeds in rags. He would hate the way he looked, certainly, nothing lent a sense of danger to a man like a kind word dripping with menace and a crisp, tight suit, but he would do it.

But, he admitted to himself, he also really fucking loved money. And if he was forced to charge exorbitant prices for his fine services, well, who could blame him!  He was an artisanal bête noire. A tradesman, having honed his craft to a wounding edge and then beyond that still. You had to pay for the privilege, of course, he didn’t just go doling out personalised service to anyone. A chest full of treasure or a bloodline debt he found particularly amusing; everything had a price and that price was always in flux. He would squeeze the guileless of their money like he was clamping his hand around a ripe tangerine, and although the advice he offered in regards to their problems was genuine and the best they could ever receive sometimes it didn’t do the trick. Perhaps his esteemed customer couldn’t resist the urge to gloat as he dangled the hero above the Inescapable Pit Of Angry Vipers instead of just cutting the rope, resulting in yet another thwarting as it’s actually very easy to escape vipers; they don’t have legs. Perhaps the Baroness released the sleeping gas in the mansion at the grand ball, rendering the victims of her robbery powerless, but forgot to seal her room and turned what should have been easy pickings into a building-wide nap and an arrest.

Returning customers were his greatest money makers. Good for padding his coffers until Flug got around to inventing something that actually bloody worked. But returning customers were also, as a creature renowned for dealing with the problems that plagued nefarious tradesmen swiftly and brutally, his greatest failure. You can’t buy brains, but you can buy the right to pretend you have them, he thought, and though every loss on their part was also a loss on his he took to blaming them. He had made his mistakes. He had taken over the world, then handed it back, just to give himself something to do. He had done his time in inadequacy. Miscalculations happened. To other people, but they happened. But at least it wasn’t his cock-ups that did them in.

Who forgets to seal the room they’re in? Honestly. That’s entry level.

On cue, Flug knocked meekly, then let himself in as Black Hat had forgot to lock the door. Black Hat cursed himself and then motioned for Flug to speak.

“Are you busy, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

They both stayed there, looking at one another, Flug shifting on his feet.

“You don’t… You don’t look busy.”

“Sitting at a desk is an activity. I’m doing that.”

More staring. Flug cleared his throat, the door creaking as he peered from it.

“Look. Look, what is it you want,” Black hat sighed, “because I can assure you, I don’t care--”

“I need advice.”

This gave Black Hat pause. He straightened his name plate on the desk.

“What kind of advice.”

“The sort you give to the other villains.”

“You can’t afford it. Out.”

“I don’t need to,” Flug stated, quite abruptly. “As your only scientist, it’s in your best interest to make sure I’m working as efficiently as I can. Every time I get better your profits increase because my work will be more consistent.”

Black Hat went to shout at him for being an idiot, then stopped because Flug actually had a very good point. Black Hat sat there, his face locked in that expression as he tried to tear apart that argument and found he couldn’t. Flug remembered himself, his diffidence seeping through once again.

“-- S-Sir.”

Black Hat sighed.

“Fine. Fine, you’ve made your point. Sit down. You’ll get the full treatment so any failures are your fault and not a result of me half-arsing it. This is the rope you’ll hang yourself with. Are we clear?”

Flug looked like he was going to melt from the relief. Black Hat set the timer on his desk, well under the normal limit.

“Crystal, sir. Thank you.”

Flug went to sit on the floor.

“No. If you’re a customer you’re getting treated like a customer, I pride myself on my service. The chair opposite.”

With a gentle gasp, Flug sat upon the chair, sinking into it and letting out a small noise of delight.

“It’s… It’s so comfy,” he whispered. “It’s like my spine is making love to a thousand marshmallows.”

Black Hat waved him off.

“You’re making this a ‘thing’. Stop that, stop making this a thing; I’m a consummate professional and I can’t afford to have you… _Leak_ everywhere. So don’t get emotional and start bawling your eyes out. Drink?”

“Pardon?”

“Do you want a drink. A drink, Flug. It’s that thing people need to choke back to tolerate you.”

With a deep breath, a slow inhale and a slower exhale, one that echoed around the room, Black Hat composed himself.

“That was unnecessary. I apologise for my behaviour.”

Flug nearly choked, unable to believe what he was hearing.

“I-- You-- You’re doing what?”

Black Hat took a measured breath, restraining some anger.

“I have a reputation to uphold,” he enunciated clearly, serpentine tongue clicking against his pointed teeth, “and that reputation means only the utmost hospitality to the highest paying clients.”

“I… I didn’t actually pay--”

Black Hat leant over the table and grabbed Flug by the lapels of his lab-coat, smacking their foreheads together as he pulled him in, taut and macilent. Flug could hear Black Hat’s teeth scrape against one another. He smelled like raw meat and cologne. Flug’s eyes fluttered at the close contact, at the tone of Black Hat’s voice. Black Hat mistook the heavy breathing for fear, snarling, his fierce nature frothing up and through the punctures in his guise.

 _“Only the bellends that pony up get to do this. I apologised. Take the lifeline, Flug. Pretend you know how to conduct yourself in a social situation for_ **_once_ ** _in your life.”_

Flug stammered, his jeans going tight. He pulled his shirt over his groin and pretended he was wringing the fabric, as if soothing himself.

“O-Okay, okay, I will--”

Black Hat threw him back into his chair, then stood up and walked to the mahogany drinks cabinet. With a dramatic flourish of the hand, he opened it, gliding his digits along the top.

“Now then, the drinks; I have scotch, gin, cognac, rum, red wine, not white-- we aren’t alcoholic housewives two years deep in a messy divorce-- and a two-litre pitcher of whale tears.”

Flug crossed his legs as best he could, hoping he wasn’t appearing awkward. The situation was as novel as it was thrilling. He couldn’t believe his luck.

“Do you have any… Any lemonade.”

“... No.”

“I’ll have a small glass of red wine, please.”

“A good choice.”

Black Hat popped the cork with his a smooth motion of the hand, filled a glass with effortless grace, then poured himself two fingers of scotch and made his way back to the desk. Flug noticed there was ice in the glass despite Black Hat not adding any, but put this down to an unusual (and extremely petty) display of his powers.

“It can only be called scotch if it’s made in Scotland. A fun piece of trivia. I assume they established that rule in between rounds of making fantastic alcohol, then swilling it and stabbing each other in the long alleyway that is that entire country.”

“Oh.”

“When you turn eighteen you’re blinded and carried out by a horse and cart. You start in the west and fight your way through to the east, then fall into the North Sea and drown. That’s your reward, being able to die on your own terms.”

Flug quirked a brow.

“I… I feel like that isn’t true.”

“It might have changed, it’s been years since I invaded. Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

They clinked glasses. Flug felt out of his depth. He didn’t think he would get this far. Drinking, sitting in plush chairs in nicely decorated rooms, casual chit chat before getting down to business… This was what it was like to be a respected villain! A scientific scoundrel! His goals had been nebulous but this, this gave him something to hone in on, he wanted to do this every day. Black Hat sipped his drink.

“So what is it you need help with.”

Flug straightened up, he hadn’t rehearsed this part in his mind.

“Sir…”

“‘Black Hat’. When you leave, it’s ‘sir’. When you’re sat in that chair it’s Black Hat.”

Flug felt his chest swell with pride. For the first time he could pretend he had succeeded. He could bear all the long nights and the torturous working conditions for this.

God. To be that powerful. To be able to exert that much control. It must be exhilarating. Flug allowed himself to relax which was the worst mistake he could ever make because for a brief second he forgot who he was.

“Shouldn’t you… You know,” he joked, prodding the air with his elbow, “be saying something whimsical and rhyming. But still evil. Like, really evil.”

Black Hat looked back at him. Agonized. Flug, as intelligent as he was, had all the conversational charm of thirty-seven thousand hornets to the nipples. This was torturous, and Black Hat knew a thing or two about torture. He wanted it to stop as much as he wanted to see Flug continue to get a full, breathtaking view of his awkwardness. Flug, as if compelled, continued.

“Because… Because of the…”

“Go on.”

“Because of… The accent? It’s--”

Flug made a little hand gesture, the desperate flounders of a man in far too deep and digging deeper.

“-- Cockney, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Still going. Not a jot of encouragement and here he was, rambling himself into mortification. He knew it, Black Hat could see it in his eyes, and yet he was still going!

“Oh! I-- I was right, then. That’s-- That’s a thing people do, right. In London. Make things… Make things rhyme.”  

“When have you ever heard me do that. Ever.”

“Well, I haven't, but I thought…”

“You thought what.”

“I-- I’m not sure--”

Flug laughed, painfully, desperately, excruciatingly.

”There aren’t still chimney sweeps, are th--”

Black Hat looked at him, jaw agape. It was like looking at a rainforest. A pyramid. The grand canyon. A grand canyon that won’t stop talking and saying embarrassing things. If Flug hunched in any further he would collapse into himself, creating a black hole that would, ideally, destroy the universe.

“No, of… Of course there’s not… Not chimney sweeps,” he croaked, barely audible.

Flug wanted to kick himself for ruining the easy, respectful mood. Black Hat wanted to kick him also.

“You didn’t leave your bedroom a lot, did you. Growing up.”

“... No.”

“A computer screen? Books, some television?”

“Usually.”

“But not outside.”

“No.”

“Mm,” Black Hat nodded, pursing his lips. “I… I Thought as much. Some advice for you. Don’t ever, ever do that again.”

“I’m sorry.”

Black Hat looked deeply haunted.

“So am I, Flug. So am I. What was the question, Flug. Tell me. Please. Let this be over.”  

“Yes! The-- The question, yes, I…”

Flug sipped his wine. He knew it was painfully expensive and that he should probably be picking up notes of this and that like some sort of taste janitor but it… It tasted alright. He liked red wine. But not enough to be able to do things like that.

“Black Hat… Do you ever feel guilty?”

Black Hat stopped in his tracks, not expecting such a question. They usually came in the form of ‘how do I terrify the masses’ or ‘how do I construct a death laser on a shoestring budget’. The answers to which were ‘with a death laser’ and ‘you can’t’.

“About what?”

Flug scratched his neck, embarrassed and feeling increasingly out of place now that the high of novelty was wearing off.

“The things we do. Because I like my work, I like being, you know. Evil. But because I have the capacity to experience guilt, could I… Even with all the work I do, all the late nights; could I ever actually compare to you?”

Black Hat cackled, hand on his stomach, far more amused than offended.

“You can’t compare to me, first of all! Nobody can. Don’t ever insinuate that you could ever again.”

He cut a cigar with his teeth, then lit it with a snap of his fingers.

“I want you to remember that.”

Flug nodded.

“W-Would you say that to your real clients, or just to me?”

“All of them. That’s not posturing, either, it’s a statement of fact. I’m the best at what I do. You just threw a paint by numbers at Caravaggio. But do I experience guilt… That’s a complex question!”

Flug did a double take.

“It is?”

“Yes. I don’t feel bad about the things I do. That’s for the new money supervillains. The ones that start _one_ house fire, inherit their parent’s wealth and call themselves… I don’t know; Captain Stabfuck. Always getting caught up in their past, it makes them so easy to catch. ‘Ooh, look at me, I’m a very dark shade of grey’. Nobody cares that your dad cheated on your mum with your golden retriever; either blow up the bank you’re robbing or don’t, stop crying into the camera and do something interesting. Honestly. It’s a dying art form, you know. Villainy. Those types, they’re always the ones that have a ‘change of heart’ and get won over by the ‘power of friendship’, then run off and join the good guys in a flurry of piss and egotism. ‘Morally complex’, what happened to a good old fashioned session of kidnapping some lady and just… Tying her to the train tracks? People love making things complicated when they really don’t need to be.”

Flug knit his brows, interested but confused. This felt less like a consultation and more like a one man therapy session. Black Hat petered off.

“You’re not going to do that, are you?”

“Do what?”

“Have a ‘change of heart’. I worry you’re too soft.”

“No, sir--!”

Flug stopped himself.

“No, Black Hat!”

“Good. God help you if you do. Feelings, _urgh!_ Nothing gets done with them! Irritating, squirming things. Even talking about them; look at how off track I’m getting!”

Another sip, another savour, another mull.

“But if I couldn’t experience guilt at all there wouldn’t be any fun. There wouldn’t be any kind of baseline for me to work off of. I can have all the sadistic, hedonistic pleasure I want, sure, I can torture strangers until the cows come home--”

Flug shivered.

”-- But without it there’s no contrast. So I can. The capacity is there. Doing what I do without it; it would be eating a plastic apple. It looks enjoyable at first glance, but then you bite in and it’s hollow. There’s no joy in it.”

“So you’re saying that despite the guilt I can be a… A good villain?”

“Yes. Not to get all pom poms and high kicks, but yes.”

Flug… Flug felt a lot better.

“Feel as torn up as you need to, then do it anyway. What is it you want, revenge? Want to stick it to the bullies you had growing up?”

Flug was quiet, having been picked apart in a single sentence.

“Yeah. How did--?”

Black Hat smirked wryly.

“A hunch. Nothing I haven’t seen before. A lot of things drive people to try this out but only a few keep them here. Revenge is a very good one. It’s the one the science types like the most. You’re all just so… Bully-able. Go mope, go cry yourself to sleep, then build that death ray or cut those brake lines. It makes it juicier _,_ watching someone squirm and then go through with it. It’s like watching a nice steak rest.”  

Flug considered this. When he wasn’t foaming at the mouth and turning into an endless sea of eyes and mouths Black Hat was capable of being… Unusually observant. Was that a product of raw talent, or time? Both?

“Flug. What’s wrong. You look gormless.”

“I’ve never heard that word before but I’m guessing it’s not flattering.”

“That doctorate is paying off, I see.”

“Clients can ask you… Any question they want, right?”

“They can. It’s up to me if I answer it, but they can.”

“And you’re privy to a lot of brain melting cosmic phenomenon that I couldn’t even comprehend, right?”

“Every other Tuesday.”

“There’s a lot of debate over this, but… Does God actually exist?”

“Not in this house it doesn’t,” he muttered.

“That doesn’t really ans--”

“It answers it plenty!”

Black Hat absently scanned the papers on his desk, thinking.

“Flug, how is my Saturday looking?”

Flag tapped his chin in thought, the chair squeaking around him.

“You’re booked full. Also, Captain Stabfuck is going to be coming in for villainous counselling.”

“If he starts crying about his girlfriend again I’m going to just kill him, I don’t care how much money he has. What about the weekend after?”

“Nothing planned.”

“Want to tie a bunch of screaming, terrified women to some train tracks somewhere? It will toughen you up. You’re too nervous. Nobody takes a villain seriously if they start crying and wheezing into their inhaler on a live show.”

“That only happened once--”

Flug blinked, then beamed.

“... I-I would like that very much.”

“Good. I’ll make a monster of you yet.”  

Black Hat puffed at his cigar, then cleared his throat.

“About the guilt, that reminds me. A few years ago I was doing the things I do. You know, terrorising the innocent, demanding virgin sacrifices in return for my benevolence and then just shitting all over the hamlets anyway.”

“Of course!”

“Of course. I was walking in the wheat fields after, surveying the work I had done, and I felt the strangest shiver. Up my spine, to the tip of my hat, then back again. A shiver and a cold, twisting feeling in one of my stomachs. I had never experienced it before and I haven’t since. Like someone had reached in and squeezed me from the inside. It was foreign. New. Disturbing.”

“Wow,” Flug breathed with rapt attention, cherishing this brief window into Black Hat’s life outside of all the pomp. “Wow, what do you think caused it?”

“Food poisoning. Ended up firing out both ends for a week. Like a firework in a barrel full of water, each way.”

Flug recoiled, mentally calculating where the nearest shower was.

“Stop, urgh!”

“Turns out eating chicken-hearts can have some pretty dire consequences, especially if you pull over at a farm in the middle of the night to dig them out with your bare hands, kicking a fox in the face to secure the cargo. Gah. Never again.”

“Why would you tell me this!”

“Huh? Oh, I dunno. I just thought we were chatting now. Since I solved your problem because of course I did.”

Black Hat extended his hand. Flug looked at it, its significance not clicking.

“Is this deliberate? This was a meeting. The meeting is now done.”

Flug, grateful, satisfied and envious, shook it, a torrent of emotions swirling in his chest. Pride, respect and a little bit of lust. Well, more than a little bit. It was a nice suit.

“Flug, I know you’ve only been enslaved here for a few weeks and your work has been… Just terrible. Nothing has worked as intended. But, despite that, I know it takes a lot of balls to look me in the eye and climb on board so at a stretch, I’m… _Proud_ \--”

The timer buzzed. Black Hat clapped his hands together, eyes wide and pupils shrunken. Flug wanted to whoop.  

“-- Civility over, get out of my office, consider my hospitality spent; this isn’t a charity-- your work better be top notch or I’ll have a conniption, stop wasting my time--”

“Yes, Black Hat!”

Black Hat looked at him pointedly. Flug remembered.

“-- Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now hurry up. That chair isn’t for you. Be grateful, I wouldn’t have done that for anyone else.”

_“... Pardon?”_

“What do you mean, ‘pardon’. You’re my assistant. That comes with some benefits.”

“D-Dementia is too, but you said ‘I wouldn’t have done that for anyone else’. Specifically. Those are the words that came out of your mouth.”

Black Hat looked uneasy. He downed what was left of his scotch in one gulp.

“No, I didn’t.”

“You did, sir.”

“I didn’t.”

“I don’t know anything about Caravaggio, or expensive wine, or cigars. But I’m good at remembering things.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“I am, sir. I’m a genius. A villain. I have an extremely keen mind.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I--”

“You have Alzheimer's and you’re dying. You’re two mashed brain cells away from pissing yourself, it’s as sad as it is funny and embarrassing. Now go shamble out of my office before the nurses from the home come here to pick you up and beat you like your grandson promised they wouldn’t.”

Flug looked delightfully smug.

“You enjoy my company!”

“No! Shut up, and wipe that look off your bag!”

“That’s why you did this, you-- you were going to say you were _proud_ of me!”

“Get out-- out of my office-- out-- take a hint!”

Flug looked elated, on the verge of joyful tears.

“Do you… Do you really respect me? Deep down? In that weird, sinewy heart of yours?”

“... Get out of here before I take my letter opener, stab you in the lung, press my mouth to the hole and _punch you in the cock hard enough to play you like a one man bagpipe!”_

“I’m not the one bringing genitals into this, sir.”

Flug crossed his arms. Black Hat, in a frothing panic, picked Flug up, kicked the door down, threw him out, shoved the now obliterated door back on and let out a muffled cry of despair. Flug lay on the floor, arse over tit, still looking smug.


End file.
